


Fried Chicken

by AnotherWyldeOne



Category: Bad Guys (comic), Gargoyles (Cartoon)
Genre: Dingo and Hunter need to take better care of their winged friends, Fang isn't so bad, Fried Chicken, Maybe beginnings of friendship?, Sort of Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWyldeOne/pseuds/AnotherWyldeOne
Summary: Yama and Fang are stuck in a panel van, waiting for something to happen, and they are hungry. Dingo drops off fried chicken.
Comments: 1





	Fried Chicken

Yama and Fang were sitting cross-legged, and somewhat cramped, in a white panel van on a side street in New Orleans. 

They, and the rest of the Redemption Squad, had been in New Orleans for a little over a week. They had come to the city to follow up on a lead on Falstaff, but, instead, found evidence of a human trafficking ring. 

On the Director’s orders, they had stayed in New Orleans to sort out the trafficking ring. 

However, given that it was a human trafficking ring, Yama and Fang were limited in what they could do to help until Hunter, Dingo, and Matrix identified the locations of the people being trafficked. The two humans and AI had spent the better part of the week fishing for information and investigating locations during the day. Yama and Fang helped a little bit at night, but they had narrowed down the locations of the trafficked people to an older part of town where the buildings were not so tall or close together as to make it easy for Yama and Fang to remain unseen. 

That is how Fang and Yama found themselves spending the better part of two days in the panel van, near enough to where their teammates were focusing their search to be able to glide to their aide quickly. 

///////////////////////////

For the better part of those two days in the van, neither Yama nor Fang had eaten anything. Hunter and Dingo had left behind some water bottles for the two, but nothing else. Usually when they were on location for missions, Hunter and Dingo alternated getting food for the gargoyle and mutate since neither winged being could retrieve any themselves and, in general, the Squad never brought any food with them. 

But, this time, the two humans had been too busy and wrapped up in their investigation to remember to bring Yama and Fang food. 

Needless to say, neither of the two, cramped as they were in the van, were terribly happy about it. Fang had become increasingly hangry over the course of the two days (especially since he had to live with being hungry while he was supposed to be sleeping during the day) and Yama was becoming more irritable himself, despite his attempts to meditate while ignoring Fang’s angry grumbling.

Given that the two didn’t really get along on a good day, that was a terrible mix. It wasn’t until Hunter and Dingo had listened to what must have been the twentieth argument the two had entered into over the course of the second night, audible through their Matrix generated comms, that Dingo, wondering why the two were so damn grumpy, realized their mistake. 

“Eh, sheila, when was the last time either of us brought those two brekkie?”

/////////////////////////////////// 

It was nearing dawn on the second night of their “stakeout” in the van, as Fang sarcastically called it, when Dingo finally stopped by with some food and water, his expression apologetic as he quickly opened the back doors of the van to drop off his burden.   
Dingo dropped off three buckets of fried chicken, some requisite biscuits and sides, and two-gallon jugs of water. He knew better than to pick up sweet tea and give it to Yama or Fang. This was because the former would find it disgusting while it would make the latter hyper and drive Yama crazier than he usually did. 

For the first 30 minutes after Dingo had dropped off the supplies, all he or Hunter heard over their comms were the sounds of eating. 

In that first 30 minutes, Yama and Fang devoured the first bucket of chicken. Both could eat an entire bucket, or almost an entire bucket, of chicken by themselves, even when they weren’t starving. Dingo knew this, which was why he had bought an extra one since they were extra hungry. 

After they had finished the first bucket of chicken, Yama eating most of the white meat while Fang stuck to the dark meat, the edge had been taken off their hunger. 

They ate the second bucket more slowly. 

Neither said much, other than to request a napkin, a biscuit, or one of the containers of sides from the other if it was for some reason out of reach or would cause a mess to grab. These communications were short and to the point, but lacked the hostility and irritation that had underlain their earlier arguments, the food in their bellies pacifying them both. 

As a rule, Yama preferred the vegetable sides whenever they got take-out (more so because they were healthier than the other offerings and he could only take so much of the grease that was often in take-out), collard greens and steamed vegetables in this instance, while Fang was far less picky. He had gone without food too many times over the course of his life to turn down any food, especially when he was hungry. 

And Fang had a certain fondness for mac and cheese, in addition to mashed potatoes and gravy. Not to mention biscuits and honey. 

///////////////////////////

Fang rummaged through the bag Dingo had brought the food in, looking for something.

“Haha, yes!”

Fang pulled a handful of sauce packets out of the bag, rummaging through them before pulling one out, opening it with his sharp teeth and squirting the red sauce over the fried chicken thigh he held in his other hand. 

Fang took a bite of the saucy thigh,” Mmmmmm, tasty!”

Yama watched, a brow ridge rising, as a rapturous expression came over Fang’s face as he continued to eat the piece of chicken he had covered in sauce. The Japanese gargoyle tossed one of the smaller bones from the chicken breast he was eating into the empty chicken bucket, which had become the chicken bone bucket. He took a swig from his water jug, continuing to watch Fang in vague curiosity, before focusing back on eating his chicken. 

Yama took another chicken breast from the bucket after eating a few of the (far too mushy) steamed vegetables from one of the little styrafoam side containers. 

But before he could take a bite of it, Fang leaned over and squirted some of the sauce from one of the packets onto the chicken breast. 

Yama was not pleased. He scowled at Fang. 

“Hey,” Fang held up his hands, one holding a chicken drumstick,” don’t look at me like that Yams, it’s just hot sauce!,” at Yama’s dubious expression, he continued,” Trust me! There ain’t nothing like fried chicken with a little bit of hot sauce, it’s good!”

Yama scoffed. Trust Fang?

But, while Yama contended that Fang was an idiot and an asshole (though not in so many words), the former New Yorker had shown himself to have decent taste in food. Fang had cajoled Dingo and Hunter, on more than one occasion, to get the two of them the regional food specialty whenever they were on location for a mission for more than a night or two. 

It always surprised Yama when it worked, especially when it was Hunter’s turn to pick up the food. 

So, Yama did have Fang to thank for introducing him to American barbecue, which he had grown rather fond of as they had traveled through the southern states (though he had not cared for the mustard based bbq sauce of one of the Carolinas), attempting to locate Illuminati safe houses and contraband. 

Not to mention key lime pie and lemon bars. And berry cobbler. Yama would never admit it, but he had developed a taste for the fruit-based desserts one could find in the US. Especially those that were a bit tarte or citrus based. 

It was just his luck that Hunter seemed to enjoy them as well. 

Yama, prior to his banishment, had been a bit of a picky eater, spoiled by a lifetime of always having plenty of food available and expertly prepared by the Ishimura clan chef, Tamoko-san, and her many helpers. Members of the clan took turns in her kitchen, helping with the food prep, cooking, and cleaning, so all of them had basic cooking skills and contributed to feeding their clan members. During certain holidays, she even had special activities for the hatchlings, such as making mochi for the Moon Festival. 

Yama had never taken to Tamoko-san’s food and cooking lessons the way he now wished he had. 

The 5 months Yama had spent on his own in Tokyo before being recruited for the Redemption Squad had been hard. Yama had scrounged for food in dumpsters and trash cans, taken abandoned take-out, and even caught some fish, after a few disasterous first attempts, in the surrounding ocean when he had been desperate. Yama would never take the abundance of food he had grown up with for granted again. 

Remembering these things, Yama looked down at the chicken breast now covered in hot sauce. He leaned down to sniff it, a brow ridge rising again. It did smell pleasantly spicy. 

Yama took a cautious bite of the hot sauced chicken breast. 

Yama hummed in pleased surprise. 

It was good. 

Fang was right. 

“Ha,” Fang grinned toothily at Yama, noticing his pleased hum,” told you it was good!”

Yama swallowed, and gave Fang a sardonic grin,” Yes, it is.”

Who knew the one thing they would agree on tonight would be fried chicken?


End file.
